Alone
by Artemis024
Summary: Something is going on with Shawn. He is hurting but no one knows what is wrong. Can they help him? No slash. Angst. WARNINGS: depression, addictive characteristics, all around dark themes!
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! So this is my first Psych fanfic. This story is set at no particular time except after Psych is established with the SBPD. I love the character of Shawn Spencer and hope that they never have to write his character in an angsty way, but I love angst so I am doing it for them. This will probably be a short story of no more than 10 chapters. I have an idea of where to take this, but it is not fully thought out yet. Let me know what you think!

I do not own the rights to any of the characters of Psych. I just love Shawn Spencer. :-)

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**Chapter 1: Gus  
**

Gus knew something was wrong when Shawn didn't answer his phone. After all, Shawn always wanted an excuse to show off his lime green "Psych" phone. The truth was, Gus hadn't seen or heard from Shawn in three days. Although not outrageous on its own, other factors bothered Gus. He listed these off in his head: 1.) In the past month, half the time Shawn didn't want to do anything past 5pm. He just wanted to be alone at his apartment, that old dry-cleaners. 2.) The other half of the time Shawn wanted to stay out late at clubs or bars. Seriously late – till close – which Gus could not do three nights a week. Hell, he could barely do that one night a week. 3.) Shawn's concentration was gone. Again, this is not normally something that should bother Gus, as it is Shawn after all, but something about it this time was different. Before Shawn's concentration was steadily distracted, where he would be able to focus if he needed to. But recently even when he needed to, he couldn't. Gus had to direct his thoughts over and over again, constantly snapping him out of an apparent daydream or daze.

Although Gus felt it might be too early to bring this up to anyone else, at the same time he wanted to know if anyone at the station or if Henry had noticed a change in Shawn. Maybe there was a way to slide the topic into conversation. Plus he needed to see if anyone had heard from him in the past few days. First, of course, he would go over to the apartment to see if there was an answer.

It was still relatively early but already dark outside as Gus pulled up to the building. The lights were off, so Gus suspected Shawn wasn't home. Still he went up and knocked. No answer. He waited a minute and tried again. Still nothing. As he turned and started toward his car he heard the door behind him click and open. Looking back he saw Shawn standing in the doorway with sleepy eyes, an unshaven face, and wearing wrinkled clothes.

"Shawn," Gus said as he approached his friend, "I've been calling you for three days. Where have you been?"

Shawn scoffed, "Sorry. I didn't realize we were dating." He turned an walked back in, leaving the door open for Gus. Shawn sat on the couch as Gus closed the door. He turned on the light and stepped further in, crossing his arms as he saw Shawn squint in the "brightness".

Gus looked at his friend more closely. "Jeeze, how many days have you been sleeping in those clothes?"

Rubbing his eyes, Shawn replied, "I don't know. What are you doing here, Gus?"

"Come on, Shawn. I've been worried about you."

"Why?" He looked up at Gus. "I've been here."

"You weren't answering your phone. You know that with the cases we take something could happen. What if you had been kidnapped? How could I have known?" Gus sat in the chair across from the couch.

"Well," Shawn asked, "did you call the cops and report me missing?"

"... no."

"Then you obviously didn't think I was kidnapped. I just wanted some time to myself." Shawn laid down across the couch and flicked on the TV, trying to ignore his friend."

"Yeah," Gus replied, "You have been wanting a lot of alone time recently. What's going on with you? Did something happen? Are you sick? Have a fight with your dad?"

"Nothing, no, no and no. I haven't even talked to him in probably two weeks." Shawn sat back up and turned off the TV. "Are you going to keep interrogating me about this? I was here. Alone. Trying to be just that – alone. So if you don't mind, I would like to continue my project of alone-ness." He got up and walked towards the kitchen.

Gus followed, asking, "So what is it? Either you want to be alone for days on end or you want to go out night after night, acting like a fool?"

Shawn stopped in the kitchen doorway, blocking the entrance. "A fool? Don't I always act like a fool? Maybe right now I am just trying to tone things down and act more responsible. Now please, leave me alone. I just want to go back to bed."

They stared at each other for a minute until Gus turned and started walking out. On his way out the door he muttered under his breath, "I don't think partying and then disappearing is exactly responsible."

Once the door was shut, Shawn continued into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Downing it in one gulp, Shawn threw the empty can into the recycling, on top of an already towering pile of cans.

_Maybe I should have let him see this_, he thought as he turned off the lights and went back to bed.

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Please review! Also, if you have any suggestions please send them in a personal message (not a review) and I see what I can do. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Well, I am a perfectionist and some errors were pointed out that I had to fix. This is the same as the original Chapter 2, except for some typos fixed.

Thanks for the reviews everyone. I have really been enjoying writing this story. The characters in the show are already great and provide so much diversity that manipulating them is fun. And yes, I know the case mentioned in this chapter is ridiculous, but I am not a crime writer, I am an angst writer. ;-)

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

I do not own the rights to any of the characters of Psych.

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**Chapter 2: Lassiter**

_A week later..._

A call had come in and Psych was needed. After a brutal stabbing the victim's dying words were, "The answer is my daughter's bird." The problem was he had no daughter, and thus no daughter's bird. The detectives were at a standstill and needed psychic help. Lassiter hated saying it but sometimes, just sometimes, Spencer was able to help solve their cases.

So there they all sat in the Chief's office: Lassiter, Juliet, Chief Vick, and Gus, but no Spencer. Everyone was getting impatient.

"Mr. Guster," the Chief sternly addressed, "Where is your associate, Mr. Spencer?"

Gus checked his phone again. "I'm not sure, ma'am. He hasn't texted or called so let me try him again." Gus excused himself and stepped into the hall. Just as he put the phone to his ear he heard a familiar ring tone behind him. He turned and down the corridor saw his friend sauntering in his direction.

Visibly upset, he hurried toward Shawn and grabbed his arm. "Where have you been?! Everyone's waiting!" Gus didn't wait for an answer and just pulled his friend into the office.

"Mr. Spencer," said Chief Vick, "you better have a good reason for making us wait for you."

The room was quiet as they waited for Shawn to spin some elaborate story, one which, as always, would confuse them so much that they would have to either forgive him or simply move on to the matter at hand. Instead Shawn's simple reply was, "Sorry, I needed food," and he slumped into a chair as the reactions passed.

To this Lassiter rolled his eyes, Juliet's jaw dropped, Gus scolded Shawn's name, and the Chief replied, "You had us all waiting here because you needed _food_?"

Shawn paused, picking at his nails and not making eye contact with anyone. "Yup."

"Mr. Spencer, next time you get a call from any – ANY – of us you better drop whatever you are doing, answer the damn phone, and do as you're told or you will no longer be employed by the SBPD. Is that understood?"

"Uh-huh," still no eye contact and this time it was Juliet to scold his name.

The Chief was getting truly mad now. "Look. At. Me."

Shawn lifted his eyes.

"Is that understood, Mr. Spencer?"

Clenching his jaw Shawn replied, "Yes."

Chief Vick kept her eyes on the psychic for a moment longer before saying, "Good. Now onto the case...."

As the Chief explained the specifics, facts Lassiter had already heard and memorized, the detective examined Spencer. Something was wrong. The "psychic" looked disheveled. Sure, he never looked professional, but today was worse. His hair was obviously unwashed, his eyes bloodshot, and his clothes looked a couple days old and at least a size too big. Spencer had lost weight recently, and a good amount. Something was definitely going on in this man's life. _It just better not interfere with the case._

Once the Chief finished discussing the details, she handed the case file to Spencer who read it and within a minute said, "His ex-wife's step-daughter's boyfriend is an ex-con and had a bad deal with this guy. Oh and they both were using false names." He handed the file back, stood and started to leave.

"Wait just a second," exclaimed the Chief. "Where is your proof?"

Shawn turned back and rested his hand on the back of the chair he had just vacated. "I'm a psychic. I don't need proof."

"Okay, and just what should we do now?" The Chief watched him closely.

But all Shawn did was screw up his face and reply, "_I'm _just the psychic. _You_ are the detectives. That is your job, not mine. Now, if you don't mind I have to be somewhere," and he walked out.

Everyone in the room was stunned. They couldn't explain what had just happened. After a moment of silence Lassiter walked out and stormed after Spencer. Luckily the psychic was taking his time to leave the station and the detective hardly had to run to catch up.

"Hey!" Lassiter yelled from the top of the front steps. "Spencer, get back here!" He rushed down the steps and grabbed Shawn's shoulder, spinning the younger man around.

Shawn brushed him off and replied with bite, "What?"

"You know what! What the hell was that in there?"

Throwing up his hands in confusion Shawn said, "I came here and I did what you asked for. It's your job to find the guy and catch him. I'm not the cop, you are. What more can I do?"

"For one you can explain what the hell is going on with you? What, no games today? No theatrics? Forget to eat your Wheaties? Did you not get enough beauty sleep – ?" Lassiter stopped mid-word.

Shawn rolled his head on his neck with annoyance, "What now?"

Lassiter squinted, "Have you been drinking?" Shawn smirked and scoffed, and started walking away, but again Lassiter grabbed his arm and spun him around. "I can smell the alcohol on you, so tell me. Have you been drinking?" The detective searched Spencer's face, looking for any sign of … anything really. Nervousness, deception, guilty.

As the psychic's smirk disappeared he too searched the other man's face to get a read on him. Licking his lips Shawn responded, "I went out last night. That's probably what you are smelling. Leftovers. Wanna breathalyze me?"

"Yeah, I do. Come on." But Spencer shrugged Lassiter's hand off.

"Ha. Yeah right, Lassie." Shawn took a step back. "You're kidding."

Lassiter grabbed his arm again, hard this time, and said, "You offered," as he pulled the younger man back into the station. Walking through the building, Lassiter grabbed a Breathalyzer he saw laying out in the open on McNab's desk, making a mental note to yell at the officer for leaving that in the open. Not wanting to make a scene, Lassiter closed the blinds to an empty interrogation room and pushed Shawn into a chair. The detective shoved the Breathalyzer in front of Shawn's face and simple said, "Blow."

Shawn looked at the device then back up at Lassiter. "Is this some kind of bet you have with my father?"

Lassiter sat across from the psychic. "I distinctly smell alcohol on your breath. Now blow."

Again Shawn paused before saying, "Okay, okay. I learned my lesson I won't come into the station hungover anymore. Happy?"

"Do I need to bring the Chief in here?" Lassiter's hand still held out the Breathalyzer.

Shawn sighed. "Fine." He took the device, blew into it, and handed it back.

Lassiter waited for the numbers to stop. "Point zero three seven."

"Well within the legal limits to walk home I think," Shawn sarcastically remarked. He wanted to leave but yet he didn't want to make the first move.

"Normally people with that blood alcohol content are elated and talkative, but not you." Lassiter waited for an explanation.

"Well, Detective, I am normally elated and talkative so maybe I react differently at that level. Like I said, I had a couple drinks last night. But don't worry. Although I'm devilishly young and handsome, I'm well above the legal age. I went out with some friends. No biggie."

"So Guster was with you?"

Shawn paused, trying to figure out what was going on. "No..."

"Okay. So, Spencer," Lassiter leaned back and crossed his arms and legs, anticipating a game, "when did this start?"

Smiling, Shawn looked around the room, as though searching for someone to laugh with him. "What? Drinking? When I was seventeen. But if my father asks tell him twenty-one." He smiled a little wider and winked but got no response out of Lassiter. "Come on, Lassie! Don't tell me you've never had a long night and woken up with some booze still hanging on to your breath!" He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood of the room.

Lassiter held a straight face. "When did the drinking alone start?"

Shawn was getting nervous and he knew it was obvious to the detective. "I told you I was with some friends."

"You don't have any friends but Gus," Lassiter challenged.

The psychic glanced down at the table and back up, slightly squinting at his accuser. "What are you getting at Carlton?"

"You're losing weight."

Shawn cocked his head slightly, "I've been working out."

"Your demeanor has changed."

Shawn's smile slowly faded, "I'm tired."

"I think you have a drinking problem."

Shaking his head, Shawn replied, "I don't. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Something is going on, Spencer, and I am going to find out for the sake of the department."

Now Shawn's voice was strong and level. "Stay out of it. Everything's fine."

The men stared at each other for another couple minutes, yet it seemed like an eternity. Shawn knew that Lassiter was a good detective, and Lassiter knew that although Shawn wasn't a detective, he could make a brilliant one. Without another word Shawn stood and walked out the door. But as he crossed the thresh hold he saw that they were not alone after all. Although not able to see past the closed blinds, Gus had his finger on the intercom button. As Shawn walked away without a word, Lassiter stepped out and saw Gus.

All the friend could say was, "He's just tired," and he too left.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Sorry I have been MIA for a while... I moved, started a new job, started a new class, and pretty much got buried. But here is the latest chapter. I hope you like it! And I hope to get the next chapter up next week. :-)

Artemis024

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Chapter 3: Psych Office

By the time Shawn got back to the Psych office, Gus was already there, waiting for his business partner and friend.

Shawn's face lit up, "Hey, buddy! What have you been up to? I was thinking we should go out and get a bite to eat, maybe grab a drink. Or ice cream! We haven't had ice cream in a while! But you like frozen yogurt... "

"Shawn."

"... I suppose you could get yogurt and I could get ice cream. That works 'cause then we could stay out longer...."

"Shawn."

"... Come on, grab your coat. I know this great place for food. You'll probably hate it, but I'll probably love it so it evens out, right?..."

"Shawn, stop." The entire time Shawn was talking Gus was standing in place with Shawn running around the office like a hyper puppy. Finally Shawn stopped. "What's up, Gus? Don't you want to go out?"

Gus shook his head. "Aren't we going to talk about this?" His brow was furrowed in concern.

But Shawn just smiled wider, hopped a couple times, anxious to leave, and asked, "About what?"

Gus stared in dismay, speechless. "About what happened back at the station? 'Cause I sure would like to."

Shawn sat down at his desk and began goofing around on the computer, "What happened at the station? Did I miss something?"

Gus quickly closed the laptop and replied, "No, Shawn, you. You have been acting weird for a while now, but it was minor things before. Sure you would disappear and then show up like nothing happened, but that was just you being you. But now, now half the time you are a recluse. And that's not you –."

"Oh my God, Gus!" Shawn stood and put his hands in his hair, "I am just trying to be professional. When I am being myself people want me to tone it down, and when I tone it down people want me to be crazy! I don't know what I am supposed to do! No matter what I do it is wrong! So please, Gus, please tell me how I am supposed to act!"

"Act like yourself! If that is goofy, fine, act goofy. But you need to stop shutting us off for days at a time. And what about what you and Lassiter were talking about?"

Shawn shook his head and sat back down. "Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm not... I don't have a drinking problem. I mean, come on, Gus! You know me! I just like to have a good time every once in a while!" Shawn put on the biggest smile he could to try and prove that he was in fact okay.

But Gus wasn't buying it. He eyed Shawn skeptically. His voice was flat, "It would explain a lot. And it's gotten to be more than every once in a while, Shawn."

To this Shawn threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh and threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Believe what you want to believe. You can tell that to Lassie too. I'm going to get food." And with that Shawn grabbed his coat and walked out, slamming the door and leaving Gus in stunned silence. After a few beats Gus picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello? Mr. Spencer, it's Gus..."

Shawn's mind was racing as he walked home. Nothing was wrong. He just... he just was trying to figure things out. Sure, he might have been drinking more, but that meant nothing. And sure he might have been hiding out alone more, but that was because recently he just didn't want to see people. But it too was nothing really. Nothing that wouldn't pass.

Every few months this happened. Gus should know that by now. Granted this felt more severe than before. And yes, people were starting to approach him about it now, which was odd, but still it was nothing.

Shawn nodded to himself as he continued walking, telling himself that he was right and they were all wrong. So what if they thought he wasn't acting like himself? How would they know what the normal Shawn Spencer was like? There was no such thing as him acting normal, and they should have learned that by now. Shawn's mind was spinning with these thoughts. He wasn't even hungry anymore. He just wanted to go numb his mind by whatever means necessary.


	4. Chapter 4

I am SOOOO sorry this has taken so long! Enjoy! R&R! ~Artemis024

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**Chapter 4: Henry**

"Hello? Mr. Spencer, it's Gus."

"Gus," the elder man said, "How many times do I need to tell you: You can call me Henry."

"Sorry sir, Henry... Are you busy?"

"Nah, I'm just polishing the car. What's up?"

"I think something's wrong with Shawn."

Henry stopped buffing with his rag. "What do you mean?" The father wanted to sound level but his heart dropped about a foot in his chest.

"Well," Gus hesitated, "He's been acting odd."

Sighing, Henry responded, "You'll have to be more specific, Gus. Shawn has been odd since the day he was born." He continued buffing.

Gus had been pacing around the office but finally sighed and sat at his desk.

Henry knew that Gus was always the worrier between the duo, but still the pause in the conversation concerned him. He walked away from the car and entered the house. "Gus, what's going on with my son?"

"I don't know. He's just not acting like himself. He spends most of the time locked away in his apartment. And he doesn't seem interested in cases anymore."

Felling he knew where this was going, Henry sat down on the couch and replied, "How so?"

"He's gotten difficult with everyone-."

"Gus, again since the day he was born..."

"No. This is different. It's like he's purposely being argumentative... Almost like he's trying to get fired."

Henry shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry to say this, Gus, but it sounds like he's just being himself. You know his track record with jobs. He gets bored easily. He probably just wants to move on to his next ridiculous endeavor. I'm actually surprised your psychic detective thing has lasted this long/"

"But Shawn loves 'psych'! He loves screwing with people and with this job he can get away with it." Gus nervously tapped a pen on the desk, trying to process what Henry was telling him. Was Shawn really simply planning his next big adventure? Gus continues, "I don't know, sir..."

"It's sad he's doing this and that you will be directly effected, but it's Shawn." The conversation went silent and this concerned Henry. "Gus, what aren't you telling me?"

Gus knew he had to tell Henry his thoughts. He'd find out eventually and holding back now won't help anyone, least of all Shawn. "When was the last time you saw Shawn?"

"Um, I talked to him on the phone about two weeks ago."

"No, I mean when did you spend time with him... See him face to face?"

"Oh jeeze, I guess it's been a few weeks. Come on, Gus. Stop tip-toeing around this and just tell me what's got you so worried?"

"He's... been drinking."

"Okay, now I know you're getting all worked up over nothing-."

"A lot," Gus blurted out.

"Huh?"

"He's been drinking a lot. More than normal."

Henry thought aloud, "Shawn has never been much of a drinker. So 'more than normal' is what? Two beers every other night?"

Gus was silent for a moment and then responded, "I think you should see him. He's... I think he's not well. I just want to be sure that I'm not overreacting."

"Okay, wait. If _you_ think you might be overreacting, then you probably are, Gus. No offense."

"Come on, Henry. Aren't you the least bit concerned that I'm calling you? Just... humor me."

Henry sighed. "Okay. Fine. Are you guys working on a case?"

"No."

"I'll stop by his place tomorrow."

The next day Henry did as he promised and went to Shawn's apartment. After knocking on the door he waited anxiously, although he would never admit to the anxiety. He didn't know what to expect and Gus' worry was rubbing off on him.

On the second attempt of knocking, the door swung open and Henry was face to face with his son. His fears were confirmed. Immediately he could tell his son was not well. It has been a month since he last saw Shawn, and his son looked ill. Since their last visit Shawn had lost a substantial amount of weight. His cheeks and eyes were hollow and his skin had an unhealthy and alarming pallor.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Shawn asked as he stood in the doorway.

"I was... just in the neighborhood and thought I'd take you to lunch."

"Uh-huh. In the neighborhood?"

"Yeah. So are you hungry? Because it looks like you haven't had a real meal in a while." Henry made a point to look his son up and down for emphasis.

"I've been working out," Shawn replied defensively.

"Then you'll need your protein. Let's go."

"Just give me a couple minutes to get ready." Shawn started to close the door but Henry put his hand out to stop it.

The father scowled, "What, you're going to make me wait in the truck?"

"My apartment's a mess." Henry noticed that there was no emotion in his son's voice. It was flat, something he rarely ever heard.

"So what? Invite me in."

Shawn sighed and took his hand off the door. "Fine," he said as he turned and walked back in. Talking over his shoulder he continued, "Have a seat. I'll just be a couple minutes," and he retreated to the room he designated as his bedroom.

As Shawn walked away, Henry started sitting down on the couch but quickly stood back up as soon as he was no longer in Shawn's field of vision. Immediately he darted into the kitchen, planning on checking the refrigerator and cabinets, but he didn't need to go that far. Turning on the light Henry had all the evidence he needed. The counters were nearly covered with empty beer cans and liquor bottles. Henry was stunned but knew he had little time left to investigate without Shawn finding him away from the couch.

Quickly he returned to the front room and sat back down on the couch. After only another minute of waiting, Shawn emerged from the back, barely looking better than before changing.

Avoiding eye contact Shawn said, "Okay, all ready, let's go."

Henry sighed and as he stood his foot bumped something under the couch that clattered and rolled into view: a beer bottle.

Shawn looked up as Henry cleared his throat and held the bottle accusingly. The son brushed off the discovery by saying, "Yes, I know, I need to clean. Now come on, let's go before the lunch rush."

Henry set the empty bottle on the coffee table, knowing that right then wasn't the time to start a fight, not before finding out what was really going on.

Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the diner. Henry watched Shawn like a hawk, like a cop... like a father. He, Henry, had ordered a burger and fries while his son only ordered a lite beer.

"Aren't you hungry?" Henry asked.

"Nah, I ate earlier." Shawn took a gulp of his beer, draining half the glass. His father looked on worried, hoping that it didn't show.

"Well, at least have some of my fries." Henry pushed his basket towards his son but Shawn seemed to ignore them. They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Henry asked, "Are you okay?"

Shawn was taken aback by this for a second. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"You aren't looking great, Shawn. You look... tired. And honestly you look like you're losing weight."

"I told you before: I've been working out. And I guess I'm just wiped by the case."

"You don't have a case," Henry blurted out, accidentally.

Shawn squinted, trying to read his father. "Have you been checking up on me?"

"No," he semi-lied, "I just have connections in the PD and know that there are no big cases."

Shawn seemed to accept this and took another swallow of his beer, nearly draining it. He saw their waitress and motioned for a second beer.

Henry couldn't resist. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"What?"

"I'm guessing you had a few this morning before I stopped by."

"What's going on, Dad?" Shawn was suspicious.

"Nothing."

"So you just 'happened to be in the neighborhood' and decided that since you're here you would interrogate me?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "I'm not interrogating you. I haven't heard from you in a while and when I stopped by you looked horrible."

"I'm fine."

"Then why do you look hungover and what were all those bottles doing in your kitchen?"

Shawn was pissed. "You were snooping on me? You went through my apartment?"

"I was worried!" Henry said in a hushed shout.

"Who called you? Lassiter?"

Henry paused. "Why would Lassiter call me? What aren't you telling me, Shawn? Is the department worried about your drinking?"

"There's nothing to worry about, Dad!"

"Shawn," Henry took a deep breath, "I know you're not telling me something. But I am going to be honest with you." Shawn was silent and listened. "Gus called and said you haven't been acting like yourself. And now that I've seen you, I agree. I want to know if I can help because something is obviously wrong. Do I need to worry about your drinking?"

Shawn rubbed his face with his hand and responded, "I swear, nothing is going on. Nothing is wrong." He drained his new beer. "Thanks for lunch." And he walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

_Wow, I am so sorry this chapter took so long to post! I have a definite plan for this story, so don't worry, it will get done eventually. _

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**Chapter 5: Juliet**

Settling into bed with a book and glass of wine, Juliet wanted nothing more than the day to be over. Nothing spectacular or horrible had happened, it had just been a long day. As soon as she got comfortable, however, her phone rang. There were no current cases that demanded immediate attention so the detective seriously considered letting it go to voicemail. If it was important enough Lassiter would show up at her apartment and buzz her down, although probably pissed because she didn't answer her phone.

No later than those thoughts passed through her head, Juliet heard a knock on her door.

"What the... ugghh," she protested as she tossed her blanket aside and shuffled to the door. Looking through the peephole Juliet was surprised to see Shawn Spencer. She threw the door open with a sigh and said, "Shawn, this better be good. I was just about to go to sleep."

Juliet hadn't seen the psychic for about a week, and there was something different about him that night. It appeared as though he hadn't shaved for days, his skin was pale, and his eyes looked what could only be described as frantic.

"You didn't answer your phone," Shawn said as he stepped past Juliet into her apartment.

Leaving the door open as a sign that he couldn't stay long, she replied, "Like I said, I was going to sleep. How did you get into my building?" Juliet crossed her arms and didn't walk further into her home, again hoping he would take the hint.

Shawn put his fingers to his temple as though he was about to divine something but stopped and said, "Come on Jules, it's me."

The detective sighed. "What do you need Shawn?"

"Go out with me."

"Shawn, we've been through this before. I don't date people I work with." Juliet noticed Shawn shift uncomfortably on his feet.

"No, no," Shawn responded, "I mean _come_ out with me. Let's go grab a drink or food or something. I want to go out!" He looked around nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

Juliet furrowed her brow, noticing this odd behavior. "It's past 10 o'clock, Shawn." She paused and continued, "Are you feeling okay?"

His attention snapped back to Juliet and he quickly responded, "Yeah, I'm great!" A smile that could woo even the coldest person crossed Shawn's face as he continued, "And 10 o'clock? Come on! The night is still young!"

"You seem really wired," she said, looking at him skeptically.

"I don't know... I had a lot of coffee. I know! Let's go dancing!" He grabbed Juliet's hand and put his other around her waist and started swaying her around.

The detective just wanted to go to bed and didn't play along with this. "Shawn... Shawn... Shawn!" She stepped back and put her hands up. "You really need to calm down. It's Wednesday night and unlike you, I have to be at work in the morning."

"But you don't have any cases."

"But I do have lots of paperwork to finish up."

Shawn scoffed. "What, is the paperwork not going to wait for you if you show up an hour or two late?"

She sighed again, "If you want to go out so badly why don't you get Gus to go with you?"

The psychic let out a little laugh. "He's out of town for some pharmaceutical thing. And even if he was around he'd never go out on a 'school night'," he said with air quotes.

"Well, maybe you should take a cue from him."

"Jules," Shawn whined as he took a step closer to the detective, getting a little too close for her comfort.

"Shawn," she firmly said as she took a step back, "I think you should go. Go home and get some sleep."

He rocked on his feet for a second, looked around the apartment again, and curtly responded, "Fine. Whatever," and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and leaving Juliet confused as to what had just happened.

But Shawn did not go home to bed. Instead he went to the same place he went every night. Far from the office and the precinct was a bar, one that Shawn knew would have a slim chance of running into anyone he knew. It wasn't a dive bar, but it wasn't far from being one. The lighting was dim and no one there made eye contact. It was just what Shawn liked. He walked in casually and went straight to the end of the bar.

"Hey, Shawn," the bartender said. "Haven't seen you here for a few days. I thought maybe you'd found a new place."

"Nah," the psychic replied with a smile. "You know you're my favorite girl, Victoria."

Putting a glass out Victoria said, "Your regular?"

"Make it a double tonight."

"Rough day?" she asked as she poured the whiskey.

"Nothing special." Shawn downed the drink in seconds and continued, "Another please." The night continued like this, with few words spoken between Shawn and Victoria but many drinks exchanged.

A couple hours later when Shawn's speech started slurring, Victoria paused before him pouring another. "Hon, maybe you should take it easy. You're hitting it hard, and I don't want to have anyone bussed out of here tonight."

Shawn quickly drank the whiskey in front of him. "You don't have to worry about me. I know my limit and I think I can handle another." He pushed his glass forward and anxiously waited as the bartender poured the drink. This one Shawn sipped as he and Victoria kept their eyes locked on each other. Neither spoke for a few moments.

"Shawn," Victoria said, "I am not okay with you getting shit-faced."

He pushed his glass forward again as he drained it. "It's your job to serve me drinks-"

"And it's also my job to not let people get out of control here. If you want to get blackout drunk, you'll need to do that somewhere else. I'm cutting you off for the night."

"Come on, Victoria-"

"No, Shawn. I'm going to call you a cab."

"Don't bother." Shawn stumbled as he stood.

"Whoa," Victoria ran around to Shawn and grabbed his arm to prevent him from falling. "You can't drive yourself."

He steadied himself on the bar ledge and pulled out his phone. "I think I just need to get some air. I'll call someone for a ride." He shrugged off Victoria's grasp and slowly made his way to the door. The bartender watched him for a moment and saw him sit on the stoop and make a call. Another customer called her name, forcing her attention away back to her job.

Outside Shawn sat down and watched the world spin. It was all a plot, though, and he only pretended to call someone. Once a few minutes passed, Shawn glanced over his shoulder and saw that Victoria was no longer watching him and was instead busy around the bar. He put his phone away and, as quickly as his drunk body would allow, hurried around the corner to his motorcycle. A part of his brain told him he should not even think of getting on the bike, but that part was shot down by the alcohol in his blood.

Shawn had only one more goal for the night: to go to the 24 hour liquor store and get more alcohol. He ran out of it at his apartment the night before and kicked himself for not stocking up sooner. There was always the possibility that the store clerk could turn him away for being too intoxicated, so Shawn knew he had to put on his best sober face. The ride back to his part of town would be a tricky one. It was only a couple miles but some of the roads were winding and if he wasn't focused, he could easily lose control of his bike. With this thought in mind, Shawn kicked the bike off and started his ride.

As the wind hit his face, Shawn could feel himself beginning to sober up, something he was both glad for and upset about. Soberness was a feeling he didn't like. It made his mind speed up to real time and forced him to think and observe everything. There had been a time in his life where all he wanted was a clear mind, one that would impress anyone because of his skills. But that time was long gone.

Just as the gears in his brain started turning again, flashing lights appeared behind him.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he slowed the bike and went to the side of the road with the patrol car right behind him. Shawn waited on his motorcycle with his hands placed firmly on the handlebars as the police officer walked up to him. A bright flashlight was suddenly blinding him and Shawn lifted an arm to shield his eyes.

The light was turned off and Shawn could now see that it was Dave something-or-other. He glanced at the nametag and saw 'Samuels'. "Hey, bud," Shawn said without missing a beat. Samuels was not a cop Shawn dealt with often, and knew the man was a no-nonsense type, much like Lassiter.

"Hello, Mr. Spencer," Officer Samuels replied. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"My devilish good looks?"

"California law requires all people on motorcycles wear helmets. So where is yours?"

Shawn looked away for a second. "I... must have forgotten earlier," he lied, knowing full well that he had left it at home before even going to Juliet's.

Officer Samuels paused for a moment before replying, "Sir, please step off your motorcycle."

"Why?" Shawn scoffed.

"I can very clearly smell alcohol on your breath. You can either preform a field sobriety test or I can arrest you because of my suspicion."

Shawn sighed and stepped off his bike, confident he would pass the test. He knew the routine. The breathalizer came out and he blew into the device.

"Point zero nine eight," Samuels read off. "Mr. Spencer, you are over the legal limit. You are under arrest for drunk driving." He turned Shawn around and clapped on the handcuffs as Shawn mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. Once Shawn was put into the squad car, the officer called in the motorcycle for pickup and he and Shawn drove off to the station.

During the ride, Shawn asked, "Could you do me a favor?"

There was a pause before Samuels responded, "What's that?"

"Just... could you call Detective O'Hara? Ask her to come down to the station for me?"

"It's the middle of the night."

"I know. But she's a friend and I'm sure she'll give me a ride home so I don't waste space at the precinct."

The officer sighed but went to his radio. "Officer Samuels for dispatch. Please contact Detective O'Hara and inform her I am bringing Shawn Spencer into custody."

Once at the station, the processing was simple, but seemed to take forever as Shawn's personal belongings were placed into storage and he was put into the holding cell. Moments later, as Shawn sat on his cot, he saw Juliet enter the holding room looking disheveled and exhausted.

"Shawn." She was pissed. "What is going on?"

He stood up, wavering a bit. "I need you to give me a ride home. I don't want to sleep here tonight."

"I can't believe you were arrested for drunk driving! And then you call me out of bed and expect me to do a favor for you. You have some nerve." She started to storm off but was stopped by Shawn's plea.

"Wait," he desperately said. "You're going to make me stay the night here?"

"Yes I am." She crossed her arms.

Shawn hung his head and rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay. I understand you're mad. But... could you please just not tell my father about this."

"Too late."

"You called him?" Shawn stepped up to the bars.

"Yeah, I called him when they told me why you were here because I am not going to drive you home in the morning either."

Walking away from the bars Shawn replied, "Well... what did he say? Is he coming in?"

Juliet sighed. "No, Shawn. He said it would be good for you to spend the night behind bars... because that's where you've been heading for a while." The detective furrowed her brows upset and walked away without another word, leaving Shawn alone with this thoughts


	6. Chapter 6

_So this chapter ended up a lot longer than I originally thought it would. I have really been slacking on my writing recently so I don't have the next chapter even started, but I do have some ideas. As always, please R&R, and enjoy! ~Artemis024 :-)_

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**Chapter 6: The Station**

"Shawn... Shawn, wake up... Shawn!"

The psychic's eyes slowly opened and he had a moment of disorientation before remembering the previous night's events. His entire body throbbed from his hangover, urging him not to move. Since when were his hangovers this bad?

"Shawn."

He heard his name again, this time immediately knowing the voice.

"Come on, Shawn. Get up."

Shawn opened his eyes, but quickly closed them back to a squint. "Please. Stop. Shouting." He slowly sat up onto the cot and looked at the person calling his name: his father. Rubbing his hands over his face, Shawn asked, "What are you doing here?" Henry was the last person he wanted to see right then, knowing that a lecture was coming in the near future.

Henry broke Shawn's thought by saying, "I was fortunate enough to get a call last night that you needed a ride. Strangely, I wasn't surprised at where you were... or what had brought you here."

Shawn looked up at his father again. Although they were nearly the same size, for some reason that day his father looked like a giant, imposing with his arms crossed and an ice cold stare on his face. He waited to get scolded for his antics, but was surprised when Henry didn't start shouting.

Ignoring his son's apparent stupor, Henry commented, "You look like hell."

Standing up and taking a step closer to the bars, Shawn scoffed and replied, "No thanks to you."

Henry dropped his arms to his sides and took a step forward. "You have got to be kidding me. You're seriously blaming _me_ for you getting arrested for drunk driving?"

"I'm blaming _you_ for leaving me in here all night." Maybe he wanted to fight. All he knew for sure was he wanted another drink to ease the pain in his head.

Henry tried to regain his composure. Getting angry wouldn't solve whatever was wrong with his son. "I thought it would do you some good to have a night to think."

Both men stood in silence, staring at each other for a minute.

"So?" Henry continued, "Did you take the time to think?"

Shawn's clenched his jaw before responding, "Yeah. And I came up with a great toilet wine recipe."

Henry turned away and rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to be angry at his son. He wanted to feel sad for his son. But all he could feel was defeated. Defeated that he couldn't figure out what to do to help. Defeated that his son didn't see that what he was doing was endangering his life. Shawn watched his father walk out of the holding area and told himself that he had finally broken that last fiber holding their relationship together. The psychic went back to the cot and sat down to contemplate what had just happened.

Lassiter had just come into work and saw his partner sitting at her desk with her head in her hands.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked in his brusk manner.

"Ugh," she groaned. "I was called late last night to come in." She raised her head and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee in front of her.

The senior detective furrowed his brow as he sat down. "I wasn't called. Is there a new case?"

"No. It was Shawn. He got a DUI last night and decided I was the best person to call to bail his ass out. That was after he showed up to my apartment hours earlier wanting to go out for drinks." She looked up at her partner. "I don't know what's going on with him, but he isn't himself anymore." She looked up at Lassiter and saw him staring into the distance. "You know what's going on, don't you?"

"No," he said, standing up, "But I want to know just as much as you do. Where's Spencer now?"

"His dad just came by a little while ago to take him home. I think he's still in holding."

Juliet barely finished the sentence before Lassiter was walking away towards the chief's office. She quickly followed him as he stormed into Vick's office.

"You need to take action," he said, giving no indication of what he was referring to.

Vick looked up from her desk. "Detective! Knock before entering."

"I'm sorry, Chief." Lassiter put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor.

Chief Vick didn't know what was happening. "You'll need to explain what you are talking about."

Before Lassiter could respond, Juliet said, "It's Shawn Spencer. He's... there's something wrong." She rubbed her eyes from exhaustion. "I – _we _– think there is something wrong."

The chief sighed. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Now it was Lassiter's time to talk. "I don't know if you've been downstairs yet, but Spencer is in the cells. He was arrested last night for drunk driving."

Vick shook her head. "Although that's not a good thing, I don't know why you are coming to me about it."

Again the door opened suddenly. This time with Henry Spencer in the frame.

Lassiter ignored this intrusion, even though it directly effected the man in the doorway, and continued, "We can't have him as a consultant when he's acting like this. It's not just his reputation, but ours if cases go to trial."

Henry stepped fully into the room and closed the door. "I need to know what you are going to do about my son."

"Henry," the chief said as she stood and came around her desk, "There is nothing that I can do. He's an adult who has to pay the consequences for his actions-"

"No, that's not what I mean. I want to know what can be done to help him."

"Help him?"

Henry rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes. I want you to be tough. I want to get to the root of what is going on. I know he won't talk to anyone unless it is mandatory."

Vick paused. "You're asking me to require an evaluation?"

"Yes."

Minutes after his father left, although again it felt like hours, Shawn heard footsteps. Rounding the corner came an officer with keys in hand.

"Come on, Spencer," said the officer, "Time to go."

Slowly Shawn walked out of the cell and up the steps leading to the main hall. Making the last step Shawn saw his father leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He laughed a little before asking, "What are you still doing here?"

Henry stepped forward. "I'm your ride. They're holding your bike for twenty four hours."

"They can't-"

"I asked them to. I don't want a repeat tonight of what just happened."

Shawn was furious. "You have no right to do that!"

"You might be right. But yelling at me won't change anything now. It's already been put into action. If you want to get it, you'll have to talk to the chief."

Shawn glared at his father for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. "Fine."

Walking towards the chief's office, Shawn saw Juliet at her desk trying not to look at him. Something didn't feel right about seeing the detective like that, but Shawn tried to tell himself that maybe it was just another friendship that had lost his trust. It was sad to him that this was the best case scenario running through his head. His nerves fluttered as he knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

With his father right behind him, Shawn entered the room. Although not at the top of his game, again Shawn immediately knew something was up. Upon entering his eyes met with Chief Vick's concerned eyes. He turned around and saw Lassiter sitting in the corner. The door closed quietly behind him and he heard the click, focusing him on his father.

Shawn closed his eyes, kicking himself. "You set me up."

Henry waited a few seconds before saying, "This is for your own good, Shawn."

"Mr. Spencer," came the words of Vick, forcing Shawn to turn back towards her, "It has come to my attention that your behavior has become exceedingly reckless."

Shawn gave her his best half-smirk and replied, "Come on, Chief. That's just my process."

He started to put his hands to his temples in the oh-so-Spencer way but was stopped.

"No, Mr. Spencer, I mean in your personal life."

Shawn lowered his hands. "My personal life has no baring on my professional life."

"I beg to differ. Your appearance in public may directly effect the outcome of cases. And if you are having some sort of problem-"

"I'm not."

"Let me finish, Mr. Spencer. It is apparent to all of us that there is something going on in your life that needs to be addressed. I am giving you the opportunity to clear things up."

"What exactly are you saying, Chief?"

Vick paused and looked Shawn in the eyes before she continued. "Our department has an excellent psychologist and I think you would benefit from speaking to him."

"I don't need a shrink."

"Maybe I am being too subtle. I am requiring you to speak to Dr. Mathoweitz."

Shawn crossed his arms, a defensive posture Lassiter rarely ever saw the psychic make. "And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, then I can no longer hire you as a consultant for the SBPD." The statement was matter-of-fact. There was no way around this.

Shawn turned to his father. "This was your idea."

"It's for your own good, Shawn," Henry replied. "Just talk to the doctor and this will be over."

Turning back to Chief Vick, Shawn clenched his jaw. "Fine. But this is going to happen in my office, not here."

The chief held out a card with the psychologist's information, knowing that this was the best she'd get and hoping that the psychic followed through and actually saw the doctor.

Shawn quickly snatched the card out of her hand and stormed out of the office. Once in the hall, Shawn swore at himself, remembering that he had no bike and needed to find a ride. He glanced around, hoping to find someone to give him a lift so that he wouldn't have to rely on his father, but his eyes only met Juliet's. The detective stood and took a step toward him, as though she wanted to speak. But in truth she didn't know what to say. She could sense the anger radiating off of Shawn.

Before she could say anything, Shawn raised a hand and coldly said, "Don't bother." He started down the hall again, wishing his headache would leave but instead it only increased when Henry caught up and put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Shawn," Henry said, this time with little judgment in his voice.

"What, Dad? What?" Shawn snapped, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. The two men faced each other. Shawn continued, "I can't believe you did this to me. You painted me in a corner."

"No Shawn, you painted yourself in this corner and now you have to get yourself out." Sensing Shawn was about to walk away again, Henry continued, "Just..." he sighed, "just see the doctor. Once. Vick says you just have to see him in the next three days and that if he gives the okay then you will still be employed."

Shawn shook his head in disgust and looked away. He felt defeated but knew there was no other choice. "Fine."


	7. Chapter 7

I am so sorry there has been such a delay in this story. I swear I will finish it. I even have the next chapter done... but I am going to torment everyone and hold off on publishing it for a few days. I have a definite plan for how the rest of the story will go. I initially planned on only a few chapters for this story, but now I see that it will be a lot longer than I originally intended...

I am having some problems with formatting in this chapter. There are several places where I had both an exclamation mark and question mark, but for whatever reason one of the two gets deleted. It kind of ruins the emphasis. So far the only way I can get around it is by putting a space between the two marks. Has anyone else had this problem?

Thank you to everyone who has been a loyal reader. I hope you enjoy this chapter! ~ Artemis024**  
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**Chapter 7: The Diner**

Two days had passed. Two days that Shawn barely remembered. He remembered just enough to know why, but would never want anyone else to know. That morning he sat at the counter in the diner, nursing a glass of water, hoping his headache would pass. Instead, a bigger headache walked in: his father. At first Shawn tried to ignore the man, attempting to make himself invisible. No such luck.

Of course Henry had spotted him the minute he walked in. He hesitated for a moment before proceeding to the stool next to his son.

"Shawn," he said, not making eye contact, but sensing the bloodshot eyes and smelling the bar.

"Dad." The tone was cold, unwelcoming. Shawn fidgeted, anxious to know what his father had planned next. Before giving the elder the chance to speak, Shawn continued, "Are you following me now?"

"I'm just here for breakfast, Shawn." Henry ignored his son and spoke to the waitress, "I'd like wheat toast and oatmeal, please... and I'm paying for him," he gestured toward Shawn. The waitress nodded and walked away. Pretending like it was nothing, Henry took out the crossword puzzle from the newspaper left on the counter. "Maybe you should try eating something."

Shawn couldn't help but chuckle at this. "Dad, when will you stop this?"

"Stop what, Shawn?" Henry finally turned to look at his son who remained facing forward. He was shocked to find that his son looked even worse now than he did just days before, after spending the night in a jail cell.

Shawn rubbed his eyes. "Stop trying to get me to eat. Stop trying to get in my head. Stop worrying about something that isn't there. Just stop."

"I'll stop when you stop. And I'm not here to get _you_ to eat. I'm here to have _my_ breakfast. If you want something, get it, and I'll buy." Henry turned back to face forward and concentrated on his crossword.

Minutes later the waitress came back with the food. She looked at Shawn and asked, "You want anything, hon?"

Shawn paused for a moment before responding, "A bloody Mary." The waitress hesitated but nodded and walked away again. Sensing the tension oozing from his father, Shawn quietly said, "You disappointed?"

Still not looking up Henry replied, "Disappointed, but not surprised. At least you're getting your vegetables."

They sat in silence once again. The waitress brought Shawn his drink which he greedily accepted. Turning away from his father slightly, Shawn chugged the drink down, as though his back prevented Henry from knowing what he did. The psychic waived at the waitress, indicating for another while Henry continued to pretend he was doing the crossword.

"So," Henry said, "Hair of the dog?"

"What?" Shawn swiveled toward his father.

"Your hangover. Is that," Henry gestured to the drink, "helping your hangover?"

Shawn rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes, it is."

"Maybe that should indicate something." The tone was emotionless, and Shawn interpreted it as uncaring.

He had had enough. Shawn set the glass down on the counter harder than he had meant to, making a loud thump and briefly silencing the diner. He hissed at his father, "Why are you trying to antagonize me? ! Just tell me what you want or leave me the hell alone."

"Fine, Shawn. Tell me how it went with the doctor."

He sipped his new drink. "I haven't called yet."

"Shawn! Vick only gave you three days to get this done!" Henry rubbed the back of his neck in aggravation. He pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, since you aren't going to try and save your job, I will. I'm setting up an appointment for..." he looked at his watch, "noon. That will give you three hours to... sober up."

Shawn finished off his drink and stood up. "Fine."

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"I need some air. I'll be outside."

Five minutes and a giant headache later Henry emerged from the diner. He looked around but at first didn't see his son. Then, he saw the back of his son's head at a nearby bench.

Coming around the front of the bench suddenly Henry couldn't hold back his anger. "Shawn! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

There sat the psychic, with his eyes closed as he enjoyed his first cigarette of the day.

With a sarcastic response Shawn said, "I'm waiting for you." He flicked away the butt and released a plume of smoke though his nostrils.

"Shawn you don't… when the hell did you start smoking? !" Henry wanted to be angry at his son, but instead all he could feel was confusion.

"I don't know. Maybe a few months ago. I didn't exactly write it on my calendar." Shawn pulled out his pack of cigarettes and went to light another but Henry grabbed it out of his hand and threw it to the ground.

"No, Shawn," Henry exclaimed, "You don't smoke! I'm not going to let you smoke!"

"You're not going to _let me_? ! I can smoke and I can drink as much as I God damn want!" Shawn glared at his father but made no move for another cigarette.

"Why are you acting like this? ! Why are you doing this to all of us? ! To yourself? !"

The psychic looked away but didn't respond, furious inside.

Henry sat down next to his son, suddenly exhausted. "This isn't you, Shawn. I know you aren't going to talk to me about this, but I hope you'll at least talk to the doctor... about whatever it is that is going on in your life."

Shawn's tone was flat. "When do I have to see him?"

"Twenty minutes. It was the only time he had available in the next few days." Henry sighed. "Come on. I'll take you to his office."

The elder put his hand on Shawn's shoulder, which was immediately shrugged off. "I know you heard me at the station when I said this was only going to happen at Psych."

"You don't have a choice in this, Shawn. He doesn't make house calls." Henry watched his son, waiting for an outburst but none came. "Shawn?"

The psychic was lost in thought, gazing out at the distance but seeing nothing. For once he saw nothing. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, barely registering that his father made no move to stop him. "I don't want to do this, Dad."

Henry sighed, "I know. Listen, Shawn, you have two choices: either skip out on this doctor and lose your job for sure, or go and see what happens." He gently put his hand on his son's back and could feel the tension in Shawn's muscles. He waited for his son to pull away, but Shawn didn't move. The two men sat on the bench in silence while Shawn finished his cigarette.

When the butt began burning his fingers, realization hit Shawn. He flicked away the cigarette and stood. "Okay. I'm ready."


	8. Chapter 8

_As promised, here is the next chapter! Just a small note: I ended up making the doctor a psychiatrist instead of a psychologist._  
_It might take a little while for the next chapter but I already have it started._  
_Enjoy!_  
_~Artemis024**  
**_

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**Chapter 8: Dr. Mathoweitz**

The office was clean. Almost too clean for Shawn's taste. The receptionist had led him into the room and told him to get comfortable. The doctor had to step out for a moment but would be back shortly. But it wasn't short enough. The door opened and in walked a middle aged man who strangely looked like Lassiter with a beard and glasses.

"Hello," the doctor opened a file he was holding, "Mr. Spencer. I'm Dr. Mathoweitz." They shook hands and the doctor settled into the arm chair across from Shawn.

"You can call me Shawn."

"Okay, Shawn, I understand you are a consultant for the SBPD. Why don't we start by you telling me what brought you in."

Shawn scoffed at this. "No offense, but I know how this works. You have a file there with all the info you need to know on 'the basics'. So let's cut the crap and just start."

"Alright. Let me rephrase the question then. Do you understand why you are here?"

Shawn rubbed his face and with a deep exhale he replied, "Yeah. I mean, I know why I have to be here, but I don't agree with it." He looked up but the doctor just waited for him to continue. "Some people seem to think I've been acting … erratic. That I need to be evaluated for my own good." He rolled his eyes.

"And what do you want to get out of this session, Shawn?"

"I just want to go back to work, plain and simple." His leg started bouncing and he found it difficult to make eye contact with the doctor.

"You seem agitated, Shawn," Dr. Mathoweitz observed.

"Well, yeah! I don't exactly want to be here. And the fight with my dad didn't help my mood." As soon as he shared he mentally kicked himself. He had wanted to be as vague as possible so as to not invite questions. But now he would have to answer more.

"What did you argue about?"

"Um, well, about making this appointment and about me smoking," Shawn replied, omitting parts.

"He doesn't like that you smoke I take it."

"He didn't know."

"I see. How long ago did you start smoking?"

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe three, four months ago. It just kind of started."

"You mean you started."

"That's what I said."

"You said that 'it started'."

Rolling his eyes again Shawn replied, "That's what I meant. Listen, I'm not here to play word games. I started smoking about a few months ago. It's just something I do when I drink. I'm not _a smoker_," he emphasized the phrase, "but my dad acted like it was crack."

Dr. Mathoweitz jotted something down and said, "How often do you drink?"

"Why does that matter?" Shawn was getting irritated.

The doctor leaned forward in his chair. "You were right when you said that I have a file on you. A couple days ago Chief Vick notified me that she ordered you to see me, and gave me some background on why. I know that you have been drinking excessively and that your friends, family and coworkers are concerned about this." Shawn was silent and the doctor continued, "I also know that you were recently arrested for drunk driving."

"So if you know all of this, why are you asking me?"

"I think it's important to hear your thoughts on the matter."

Shawn didn't want to answer that. He didn't want it written in some doctor's notes. And he especially didn't want to hear it out loud. He stared aimlessly past the doctor's head, trying to think of what to say, what to do, next.

Sensing the apprehension, Mathoweitz continued, "Anything you say here is confidential, Shawn. I can't tell anyone what you discuss with me."

"That's not true," Shawn replied as he made eye contact.

"Okay," the doctor nodded, "There are some things that I cannot keep to myself. But those are only if I feel you are a danger to yourself or others, or if you tell me that you plan on committing a crime. As long as you don't say anything to make me believe either of those are true, all I can tell Chief Vick is whether or not I feel you should continue working for the SBPD at this time."

Feeling the tension in his body lessen slightly, he decided to answer Mathoweitz. Fidgeting, Shawn replied, "Um, recently I've been drinking most days I guess."

The doctor watched Shawn for a moment before replying. "You only smoke when you drink, but you drink most days. It sounds to me like you're a smoker, Shawn."

With a slight squint Shawn responded, "And why does _that_ matter?" He felt judged. He let his guard down, trusting the doctor, and now he was being judged.

Mathoweitz gave his head a slight shake, "It doesn't." The doctor opened Shawn's chart. "But it's rare for people to start smoking at your age," he stated.

"What can I say? I'm a rare kind of guy," Shawn smirked.

After a brief pause Mathoweitz continued, "You said that 'recently' you've been drinking most days. A year ago how often were you drinking?"

Feeling the tension from before rise again, the smirk slowly faded. "I don't know… maybe once a week. I never really kept track."

"Did something happen to cause this change to almost daily drinking?"

"Nothing that I can pinpoint." Shawn crossed his arms defensively. "What are you getting at?"

"Generally someone doesn't just start binge drinking on a regular basis. I want to see if we can determine what is causing it for you."

"Nothing is causing it. I just like it. I don't see why people have such a problem with it. I'm enjoying myself."

The doctor nodded and paused before asking, "Have you ever been treated for alcohol dependence?"

Shawn scoffed, "No. Mostly because I'm not dependent on it. I'm not an alcoholic." Shawn stood and paced back and forth for a few moments. "Okay. I've been drinking more than normal. But it's not a problem. I don't know why everyone is suddenly so concerned about me!" He stopped and looked at the doctor, as if searching for an answer within his face.

But instead, all Dr. Mathoweitz could offer was, "You don't see driving drunk as a concern?"

"I..." Shawn sat. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"But it did."

Shawn ignored this comment and instead replied, "I think they should mind their own business. I have been okay for the past couple days. I haven't drank," he lied.

"Come on, Shawn. I could smell the alcohol as soon as we met. You've obviously been drinking this morning. Most people don't consider alcohol in the morning a normal thing."

Caught in his lie, Shawn deflected, "Why do you keep telling me about what's normal or rare?"

"I'm hoping it will help you see why the people in your life are concerned about you." Mathoweitz watched the psychic closely, intently trying to decipher his expressions.

Shawn simply looked away, avoiding the doctor's face. "I'm functioning, okay?"

"So you consider yourself a 'functioning alcoholic'?"

"No! You're putting words in my mouth! I'm not an alcoholic!" His plans to remain calm had failed. Feeling the doctor's ability to read the torment in his eyes, Shawn turned away again, focusing his eyes on a spot on the wall.

"When was the last time you had at least two consecutive days where you did not have any alcohol?"

Shaking his head, Shawn replied, "I don't know." He felt defeated.

As though the doctor had become the psychic, he knew better than to push the subject any further. He didn't want Shawn to shut down completely. "Tell me about your job."

Shawn sighed and rolled his eyes. "You already know what I do."

"Actually all I really know is that you're a police consultant."

Finally making eye contact again, Shawn responded, "I'm the department psychic." He waited for a clear reaction, but the doctor merely jotted something down and then looked back up. Shawn continued, "What? No comments on how you think I'm delusional?"

"Do you think you're delusional?"

"It doesn't really matter what I think, does it? All that matters is what you tell Chief Vick." When the doctor didn't respond, Shawn continued, "I can see things other people don't or can't see. And because of that I help solve cases." Technically that wasn't a lie.

"Do you enjoy your job?"

"I love it," Shawn genuinely replied without skipping a beat. The two men watched each other in silence for a minute. Neither could tell what the other was thinking.

"Okay, Shawn," the doctor said, "I'd like to do a general psychological screening. I'll ask some questions and I just need you to answer honestly."

Shawn, who up till then had been sitting on the sofa, stretched out in a laying position. "Hit me."

The doctor flipped to a fresh page on his pad of paper. "In the past two weeks have you felt sad or depressed?"

"I suppose I have times like that, yes." His voice was level.

With a quick note on the paper, Dr. Mathoweitz continued, "What percent of the time would you say you feel this way?"

"I don't know. Maybe fifty percent."

"Have you had trouble sleeping, either too much or too little?"

Shawn rubbed his face. "Some nights, yeah."

"Which is it? Too much or too little?"

"Both. It depends on the night."

"Any problems with concentration?"

"Not really, no."

Dr. Mathoweitz nodded and jotted another note. "Have you had any thoughts that you would be better off dead or thoughts of hurting yourself?"

"No." Shawn had paused just long enough before his response for the doctor to pick up this.

"You hesitated."

Caught, Shawn replied, "Did I?"

"Yes. Any reason why?"

Shawn glanced at Mathoweitz to find himself being studied. He shook his head slightly and looked back up at the ceiling. "I was just thinking"

"About anything in particular?"

Inhaling deeply, Shawn responded with a hint of coldness, "Just searching my memory so I could give you an honest answer."

Again something was written, but as with the alcohol Mathoweitz knew not to push this subject either. He knew the psychic was still trying to figure out if he could trust talking to a doctor, especially one that worked for the department. "Any recent anxiety attacks?"

"No," Shawn quickly said, happy to be on to a new question.

"Has your appetite changed in the past two weeks?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"And have other people said anything about it?"

"Why would you ask that?" Shawn turned his head again to look at the doctor.

"You said that you haven't noticed a change, which makes it sound as if others have."

Shawn paused. "Yeah, some people might have said something." He sat up. "Are we done here yet?"

"Only if you want a poor review with the department. We still have plenty of time left in this session." The doctor watched the psychic to see a reaction, but Shawn simply laid back down and gazed at the ceiling.

"Okay," Shawn sighed, "please continue."

"Do you have any history of drug use?"

"Yeah, some. Nothing really though. Not in a long time. You know, kid stuff. Just some pot when I was a teenager."

"Okay, that is the end of the screening, but now I would like to go a little deeper into some of your responses."

Shawn sat up again and looked at the doctor. "Alright."

"You said you experience some depression. How would you describe yourself during these periods?"

Furrowing his brow, Shawn responded, "I... I don't know. I don't even know if it's really depression," he lied. "I guess I just want to be alone sometimes. I like that time to just... be alone."

"Before you had said you've been enjoying yourself and now you're saying that you've been experiencing depression, or something that you might consider depression. Could you explain the discrepancy?"

"I… The alcohol helps me not... feel that way. And if it doesn't help with that, it at least helps me sleep." Shawn looked away.

"So would you say both the alcohol and the possible depression are connected to your changes in sleep habits?"

"Yeah. I mean, when I'm feeling down I don't feel like moving, but at the same time my brain won't shut off so I can't fall asleep. The drinking helps with both. Plus I guess I sleep more when I don't have anywhere to be."

The doctor made a note. "You mean when you don't have a case. Do you find yourself more depressed when you aren't actively working for the department?"

Shawn simply nodded.

"And," Dr. Mathoweitz continued, "when you do have a case, do you find yourself elated, or more energetic than normal?"

"I suppose." Shawn paused. "Listen, I know what you're getting at. My mom is one of you guys. I'm not the only person who gets excited when I do something I love, and lethargic when I have nothing to do. _That's_ normal."

The doctor nodded slowly and studied Shawn's face, recognizing his defensive tone and looking for his tells. "When did you start losing weight?"

"I didn't say that I have." The psychic clenched his teeth.

Leaning forward and gesturing towards Shawn's clothes, Dr. Mathoweitz replied, "Yet it's apparent based on how loose your clothes are." When he got no response he continued, "Do you find yourself not eating as much when you drink?"

Shawn tried his best to suppress his anger. "I don't understand why you are focusing on this. I am trying to tell you that my drinking isn't a problem. I recognize that it's there and present, but it's not taking away from my overall ability to function in work or in life"

Tapping his pen on the paper a few times, Dr. Mathoweitz continued, "Let's face the facts, Shawn. You look horrible. Your eyes are bloodshot and you have been shaking since you came in. And don't forget you came in here today after already drinking this morning. If it isn't alcohol, then what would be your best guess as to what is causing these symptoms?"

Shawn leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms defensively. "Fine. I had a late night last night. I didn't plan on being here this morning. All I wanted to do today was sleep through the inevitable hangover. But just because I drank last night and have a hangover today doesn't make me an alcoholic. And as for drinking today, I only had a couple bloody Mary's with my dad at breakfast."

"Was your father drinking?"

Mentally kicking himself again, Shawn closed his eyes. After a moment he replied, "No."

"Did he care that you were?"

"He wasn't thrilled about it." Shawn leaned forward again and rested his chin on his hand. He quickly glanced up and away at the doctor.

With his eyes still fixed on the psychic, Mathoweitz asked, "How much did you drink last night?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." When the doctor didn't respond, Shawn leaned back and continued, "I don't know. I blacked out." Shawn hated revealing that, but took solace in knowing that no details could be shared with the PD or his family without his permission.

"Do you remember where you were or who you were with?"

Looking at his hands Shawn replied, "I wasn't with anyone who I know. A couple days ago, I started at a bar... one I frequent. I blacked out and was home where I drank some more. And the next thing I knew, it was today."

Mathoweitz could tell the increasing level of discomfort the young man was experiencing, solely based on his constant movement. "What prompted you to start drinking that night?"

"The Chief told me I had to see you."

Shawn looked up and their eyes locked on each other. The doctor nodded and silently watched Shawn for a minute. Finally he asked, "Do you have any memory of how you got home?"

"I know what you're getting at." Shawn sighed. "Yeah, I drove. At least I'm assuming I did. I rode my bike to the bar and it was back at my place when I woke up."

"When you're a few, or several, drinks into the night, do you feel that you are in control or losing control?"

After a short pause Shawn replied, "I guess... I'm not aware either way. I guess that would imply that I'm not in control of what's going on, but at the same time I don't, or maybe can't feel that I'm losing control. I'm just coasting and going along with whatever happens."

"Is this the experience that you consciously enjoy or is it something that happens without planning?"

Shawn sighed, and it was as if his body deflated. "I don't start the night thinking, 'I want to lose control.'... But it gives me an excuse to not see everything."

"You mean in regard to your job? Your skill?"

"In regard to everything. It's all just a – " Shawn stopped himself before saying 'lie' and revealing his ultimate secret. "burden. I don't want to see everything anymore. And when I blackout I don't see anything."

Dr. Mathoweitz was struggling to understand this. The picture of Shawn, although vague in descriptions from the file, painted him as a proud, vain, almost egotistical individual. In the beginning of their session he instead presented himself as defensive, but now all he seemed was defeated.

"I'm a little confused, Shawn. You say you love your job, yet you also say the major elements that compose it are a burden. You say you're enjoying life, yet you can't remember half of it because you're drinking yourself stupid every night, and it sounds like to escape." The doctor put down the pen and paper. "And to top it off, you say you want to get back to work, but when Chief Vick gave you a deadline of when to see me to keep your job, you almost missed it because you went on a bender and 'didn't plan on being here today'."

Shawn screwed up his face and shook his head. "You make it sound like I was planning on offing myself to not be here. I wasn't planning on being here today because I wasn't planning on losing two days." Shawn paused. "I know that the blackout doesn't help my case. What I mean is, I don't want to be here in this office. I don't _need_ to be here."

"Shawn, it seems to me you are suffering from a pretty significant depression. And I think you would greatly benefit from talking about whatever is going on in your life to create these changes that are worrying the people around you."

"I don't have anything more to say than what I've already told you."

The doctor paused again, leaned forward and clasped his hands, trying to look deeper into Shawn's eyes. "Would you be open to trying antidepressants?"

Shawn tensed and re-crossed his arms, "I, um... I don't know. I don't know if I'll be able to do my job on meds."

Dr. Mathoweitz pulled out a different pad of paper, "I'm going to write you a month supply for a low dose of Prozac. If you decide to take it, I'd like to see you again in two weeks to evaluate how you're responding to the medicine. Although this drug, fluoxetine, does not have a strong interaction with alcohol, if you do decide to take it I highly recommend that you limit your alcohol consumption." He wrote out the script and looked up, "Okay?"

Shawn nodded. "And about today's evaluation?"

The doctor handed the script to Shawn. "I think you do have some level of alcohol dependence. And I think you are very well aware of it, whether you'll admit it or not. If you are in fact experiencing blackouts, that's concerning. However, I feel that once we stabilize your depression with this medication, you may not feel the need to drink to this extent. If, for any reason at all, you think your depression is getting worse, I want you to call me. Although not as common in adults as it is in children, antidepressants can increase depression."

Again Shawn nodded. "But... what are you going to tell Chief Vick?"

"Considering the nature of your job, I don't see why you shouldn't be able to go back to work. You're a consultant, not an officer. You don't carry a weapon. And you aren't directly responsible for protecting civilians. I'm going to recommend that you continue working for the SBPD."

Relief flooded over the Shawn at this news. His session was over and all he wanted to do was go home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey everyone. Sorry it took so long... geeze it's been almost a year. But, although I don't want to make excuses for myself, this past year was a rough one for me. I had some personal stuff happen and I needed to take care of it before I could devote any time to my writing. Hopefully I'll be able to get another couple chapters up soon. I wanted this chapter to be longer, but instead decided it would be more of a filler chapter... Enjoy!  
**

**Artemis024  
**

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**Chapter 9: Steps**

Shawn walked out of the building, momentarily blinded by the sun. His head throbbed but he didn't know if it was from the lingering hangover or the release of tension from knowing his session with the doctor was over. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, he sat on the steps in front of the office and put his head in his hands. He wanted to cry until his tears ran dry. He wanted to scream until his voice died in pain. He wanted to blame someone, anyone, but there was no one to blame. His mind felt numb, drained from sharing with the doctor. Lost in thought, he distantly heard his name called.

"Shawn?"

He heard it again.

"Shawn, are you okay?"

Looking up his vision was unfocused and he realized stray tears were the cause of this blur. He rubbed the moisture away from his eyes and saw his father approaching.

"Dad," his voice sounded rough to his own ears, "what are you doing here?"

"I figured you'd need a ride home so I stuck around." As Henry sat down next to his son, Shawn turned his body ever so slightly away from his father. Noticing this but ignoring it Henry continued, "So how did it go?"

Shawn rested his chin on his clasped hands and shrugged. "Fine," was his short response.

"Do you feel any better?" his father gently probed while attempting to make eye contact.

Shawn didn't know how to answer this. As he shifted on the steps and tried to think of a witty response to avoid the serious question his father had posed, Shawn felt something in his pocket poke him. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and slowly turned it in his hands, hoping that focusing on the box would get him out of talking to his father.

But Henry knew this trick and had seen his son do similar techniques before. "Shawn," he said leaning over and trying to peer into his son's eyes.

Shawn tapped the box with his fingers and looked up at his father. Pausing momentarily and searching his father's eyes for the answer, Shawn finally responded, "I don't know... I, um, I don't really want to talk about it right now."

They held eye contact only for another couple seconds before Shawn broke the gaze and looked down, going back to playing with with the cigarette pack.

Henry didn't know quite what to say. The fact that his son wasn't making jokes about the whole situation worried him. He could only think of vague platitudes.

"You're going to be okay, Shawn."

The psychic simply nodded and finally pulled out a cigarette. "Yeah," he mumbled as he tapped the smoke against the box but didn't light it. He gave his best smile, still not looking back at his father, but Henry saw through it and sensed the anxiety his son oozed. What's more, Shawn knew that his father saw through his transparent facade. He didn't care. For this one time he wished his father could read his mind completely, unorganized and distraught as it was.

Interrupting Shawn's thoughts and changing the subject Henry said, "You know I don't approve of you smoking, but if you have to, you're doing it out here and not in my truck."

Again Shawn nodded. As if on autopilot he lit the smoke and took a drag. And then he sat and let the cigarette burn. Never in a million years would he have thought talking to a shrink would affect him so much. His mother was a shrink and he should have been impervious to the techniques of psychiatrists, but still he felt that his walls had been crushed. Without realizing it, Shawn had shrunk slightly and curled in on himself. Henry noticed.

Breaking the silence Henry asked, "Shawn, what happened in there that has you so rattled? Didn't the doctor clear you?"

Taking a drag, Shawn noticed that the cigarette was half ash, making him wonder how long they had been sitting in silence. Shawn replied, "I was cleared. I just don't want anyone to think I'm crazy," he glanced at his father, "including you."

Henry sighed and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Shawn, I've known you're crazy since you started talking."

"Dad, for once I'm being serious." The cigarette was almost to the filter, again making Shawn question the lost time. He took one last drag, and flicked it away.

"No one's going to think you're crazy just because you talked to a doctor."

"But when you were a cop-"

"When I was a cop things were different." Henry rubbed his eyes and looked at his son. "With my generation we couldn't talk to anyone without getting judged... we couldn't ask for help. But the beauty of your generation is you can ask for help without being judged. You just have to ask." Shawn glanced up and his father continued, "I mean, if you need help."

When Shawn still gave no verbal response Henry sighed and searched for the right thing to say. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to know what's going on in your brain. I can't know. Not unless you tell me. And I can't make you tell me. I don't think you're crazy. I think you're confused, and lost, and need someone to talk to. And if that someone is not me, then fine. But you... we, need to get to the bottom of what's going on. Because, as much as I find the old you annoying as hell, I would rather have him around than this kid who I don't even recognize."

Emotion suddenly flooded through Shawn. A kind of tension coursed though his veins and sent chills down his spine. Immediately Henry knew what was coming next.

Standing abruptly but keeping his back to his father, Shawn finally replied, "I, um, I have to go." He took a couple steps before Henry followed.

"Shawn," Henry called out, confused. "Did I say something wrong?"

The psychic continued walking. "No, Dad. I just want to get home."

Walked a few paces behind his son, Henry replied, "Alright, I'll take you-"

"No," Shawn spun to face his father. "I need to..." he rubbed both hands over his face. "I need to be alone. I'll walk home." He turned and continued walking.

After a beat of disbelief, Henry again followed and caught up. Walking beside his son he said, "Shawn, that's almost three miles. Don't be-"

"Crazy?" Shawn stopped and looked at his father again.

"Foolish," Henry stated.

Walking away, Shawn replied, "I guess I'm getting back to my old self already, huh?"

He didn't look back. And Henry didn't follow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Finally back! What you see below was actually supposed to only be a short intro into the chapter, but I love Shawn/Henry interactions so much that I got a bit carried away and it turned into its own chapter. Oops. **

**I am doing some serious brain-storming for this. Hopefully it won't be another three months before my next chapter!**

**R&R xoxo Artemis024**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 10: Couch**

Five hours passed before Shawn's weary feet carried him back to the Psych office. He wanted nothing but peace and quiet, and the ability to put the past few days' events behind him. Latching the door, he leaned his forehead against it, and sighed with exhaustion.

"Where have you been?"

The voice from behind startled him and he spun around, seeing his father on the couch in the other room.

Shawn took a couple steps in. "What are you doing here?" He glanced around quickly. "How'd you get in?"

As if on cue, Gus walked from the back office, with his head down looking at his cell phone. "He's still not picking up."

Shawn rolled his eyes and said, "That's because _he's_ right here."

Gus' head snapped up to look at his friend. "Shawn! Where the hell have you been?" he asked, reiterating Henry's question.

With suspicion creeping in, Shawn replied, "I was walking. What's going on?"

Henry stood. "You were walking for five hours? Just wandering the city?"

Taking half a step back, Shawn crossed his arms defensively. "Yeah, I was. Are you going to tell me why you're here?"

Mimicking Shawn's gestures, Henry crossed his arms too. "We couldn't get a hold of you. We were worried."

Shawn scoffed and rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, I'm sure you were." Looking back at his father, Shawn continued, "You sure have been using that worried line a lot recently, Dad."

Henry bridged the physical gap between him and his son by taking a step forward. He replied, "Yeah? You think so? And why do you think that is, Shawn?"

Changing the subject, Shawn turned toward his friend. "Gus, what are _you_ doing here? I thought you were out of town for another couple days.

Gus furrowed his brow. "Yeah, I was supposed to be. But you called me a half dozen times in the past few days. And you didn't sound all that good in most of the messages. One came up as a station number in the middle of the night—"

Henry interrupted, "I bet I can guess what night that was." He glared at Shawn.

Confused, Gus asked, "What am I missing here?"

Rubbing his eyes, Shawn replied, "Nothing. Ignore him."

Gus glanced between his friend and the father before continuing, "And then your dad told me the last time he saw you was right after you saw a doctor—"

Shawn snapped his head toward Henry, "You told him I saw a shrink?!"

Henry slowly shook his head. "No, but you just did. All I told him was that you had a doctors appointment earlier today and that I hadn't heard from you since."

Taking a couple steps toward his friend, Gus asked, "Why did you see a shrink, Shawn?"

Feeling a flash of panic, Shawn looked from his father to his friend. Thinking quick on his feet, he replied, "It was nothing. It was just for a case." In the corner of his vision he could sense his father's eyes trying to penetrate into his skull.

Crossing his arms, Gus paused a moment before asking, "Then why were you freaked when you thought your father had told me? I mean, if it _is_ for a case why would it matter if I knew?"

"Why does it matter either way?" Shawn snapped defensively.

Henry sighed. "Shawn, are you going to tell him or am I?"

"Tell me what?" Gus asked.

Shawn sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands, exhausted. "Nothing, Gus."

After watching his son for an instant, Henry blurted out, "Shawn got to spend the night in a jail cell after getting arrested for drunk driving."

"Dad!" Shawn snapped his head to his father.

"Shawn!" Gus shouted at his friend.

"That's why he called you from the station the other night," Henry continued. "And because of that and his recent attitude, he was forced to see a shrink and be evaluated."

The psychic stood in front of his father. "I can't believe you outed me again!"

"Yeah. Blame me. I'm the cause of all your problems."

Gus crossed his arms again and ignored the father-son fight. "Forced by whom?"

"The chief," Henry quickly replied before turning back to his son.

"Dad!" Shawn stood with rage.

"Wait," Gus took another step toward his friend. "Is this going to jeopardize Psych?"

Shawn exhaled, exasperated by the whole ordeal. "No, Psych's fine." He rubbed his eyes again, wishing he could be left alone.

Gus paused and sniffed the air. "What's that smell?" As he leaned toward Shawn, the psychic playfully slapped him away.

"Oh yeah," Henry said smugly, "And Shawn now smokes like a chimney."

Looking up at the ceiling Shawn blurted out, "Oh. My god."

Confused, Gus replied, "Shawn doesn't smoke," as if the concept hadn't quite sunk in.

Neither Spencer had heard Gus. Shawn rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead and said to his father, "You've seen me smoke, what, three cigarettes? That's a chimney to you?"

"Hey," Henry replied as he threw his arms up in the air, "It's more than zero. You're the one making this into a thing, Shawn. Not me."

"Fine! You want to make this into a 'thing'?!" Shawn said with air quotes. He pulled out his cigarettes, lit one up, and blew out the smoke. "There. You can tick another one off. Now it's a thing."

Henry grabbed the cigarette as he exclaimed, "You're just proving my point!", but Shawn grabbed it back and took another drag.

Meanwhile, as Gus tried to process the last few minutes, tension increased between Shawn and his father.

"I honestly can't believe you!" Shawn shouted. "Why are you even here?!"

"You act like this and _you_ can't believe _me_?!" came Henry's response. "I'm trying to help you, Shawn!"

With that Shawn had had enough. He turned and walked away, into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?!" his father shouted behind him. But the answer came quickly as Henry heard the tell-tale fizz and his son returned with a beer, a glass as an ashtray, and a plume of smoke trailing behind him.

As Shawn sat down on the couch again and enjoyed his drink, Gus and Henry turned and stepped closer in front of the couch.

Henry spoke first. "What are you doing, Shawn?"

"What does it look like?" Shawn replied with a shrug and took a swig.

"Wait," Gus said, "I'm gone a few days and you end up with a DUI and start smoking?" He looked around the office. "Am I dreaming? Is this real?"

After another swig, Shawn said, "No, you're awake. And, yes, I got a DUI while you were gone, but I was only pulled over because I wasn't wearing a helmet. And this," he held up his hand with the cigarette, "this has been going on for, I don't know, a few months. You've just been so caught up in your own life that you haven't noticed." Shawn showed no emotion on his face as he took a drag.

The men were shocked, not because Shawn drained his drink and puffed away, but because his answers were so flat. Shawn stood and went into the kitchen, leaving Henry and Gus confused. He re-emerged with a fresh beer and took a seat again.

Gus shook his head. "I don't understand."

Crossing a foot over his knee, Shawn replied, "What's there to understand?"

Gesturing towards his friend, Gus said, "This. You don't smoke. You've never smoked. You hate it."

Shawn shrugged as he took another drink.

It was Henry's turn. "What did the shrink say, Shawn?"

With a scoff Shawn replied, "Well, father, you've already revealed all the state secrets. You expect me to believe you don't know." It was a statement, not a question.

"Quit being paranoid." Henry sat on the edge of the cushion next to his son. "Come on, Shawn."

The younger Spencer tipped his head back and rested it on the back of the couch. After a moment of contemplating if he should share anything, Shawn finally said, "He recommended that I drink less." He glanced at his father. "That's it," he lied.

As Henry tried to study his son for tells, Gus grabbed his coat and started towards the door.

"Yeah," Gus said. "Looks like you're doing a great job with that."

"Where are you going?" Henry asked.

Gus stopped. "I have reports to do. And considering what's going on here," he gestured to the inattentive Shawn, "I don't know how much longer I can rely on Psych for income. I need to focus on the job I can count on." He furrowed his brow and again made a concerned look at his friend. Shawn didn't see this as his head still leaned back and his gaze still stuck to the ceiling. With no response, Gus shook his head, grabbed Shawn's cigarette from his hand, and walked out.

This finally caught Shawn's attention. He called after his friend, "I have more of those you know!" He then turned to his father and said, "Well that was passive aggressive. Do you think he's going to smoke it?" After a beat with no response, Shawn got up and started toward the kitchen again.

"Shawn, stop," Henry called out, but Shawn didn't obey. Henry sighed, not knowing what to do. Luckily for him, Shawn returned moments later and sat back down, another beer in hand.

The silence lasted only a couple minutes, but to Henry it felt like eons. He wanted to say so much that he didn't know how to start.

Instead it was Shawn who spoke first. "I couldn't look at him." His elbows rested on his knees as he glanced sideways at his father.

"I know," Henry replied. "He's just… worried. So am I."

Shawn sighed, not out of frustration but out of internal surrender. "I'm not going to tell you about the shrink eval."

Henry nodded. "Okay. But if you change your mind—"

"I screwed up, Dad," Shawn interrupted, catching Henry off guard.

"What do you mean?"

Shawn leaned back. "I should have been more careful. I don't know… worn my helmet… gotten a cab… stayed home. Anything so I didn't get caught."

Stunned with disbelief, Henry replied, "_That's _what you're getting out of this?"

Shawn took a drink but didn't respond.

Henry continued, "Shawn, the problem isn't that you got caught. The problem is that you think you're okay. You're acting like this," he gestured to the beer, "is nothing. But hey, if you want to be in denial and pretend, then let's pretend. Buck up, kid." Henry clapped his hand on his son's shoulder.

Shawn screwed up his face and looked at his father. "'Buck up, kid'? I just got out of a department required psych eval and all you can say is 'buck up, kid'?"

Henry rubbed his eyes. "You're the one who's ignoring the real problem here, not me. I ran out of good stuff to say on the shrink's steps."

Shawn drained his beer and headed to the kitchen. "I wouldn't have even had to go if you hadn't set me up at the station!"

This time Henry followed his son into the other room. "It was for your own good!"

"_I'm fine!_" Shawn shouted back. He cracked open another beer and took a drink.

"Oh, yeah. Because 'fine' people wander for hours, not answering their cell. 'Fine' people drink in the middle of the afternoon when they just got out of a psych eval that was _to assess their drinking_!" Henry grabbed the beer while Shawn was mid-swig and slammed it on the counter.

Infuriated, Shawn shouted back, "I don't know what you want from me!"

In a hushed tone Henry replied, "I just want you to admit that you are not fine."

The two men watched each other closely for a minute before Shawn reached for his bottle again.

Henry let go. And as he watched his son greedily drink he said, "Yeah. You're fine. Get your life together kid, or you're going to lose everything."

Shawn put down the bottle but didn't respond, unsure what to say. He watched his father.

Henry continued, "Let me know when you decide you want my help."

And with that Henry walked out, leaving his son alone with his thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, I guess posting after four months is better than posting after a year. Sorry for the delay everyone. I just made a major move from the US to Europe, so things have been crazy the past few months as I prepped for this. But I do have some good news. This is chap. 11. I haven't done chap. 12 yet, but know what it is going to be, and I pretty much have chaps. 13 and 14 done. And I think there will only be 15 in this story. So, hopefully that means there won't be too long before this is done!**

**This chapter was originally going to be much shorter, but it focuses on Shawn and his doctor again, and I love writing shrink stories! (see my L&O:CI "Sessions" for more of that goodness).**

**I hope you enjoy! R&R s'il vous plaît!**

**~Artemis024**

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**Chapter 11: Prozac**

(Three weeks later)

The office was just as before. But yet this time it was different. Everything seemed sharper, more in focus. It was like when a child puts glasses on for the first time. Shawn sat on the couch, anxiously shaking his leg as he observed everything with new eyes. Were the walls this color before? Was the coffee table different? No, this had to have all been here last time. After all, it had only been three weeks since he was last here. The difference was in his mind... it was so much clearer now.

Shawn was shaken out of his thoughts as the door opened and Dr. Mathoweitz walked in. The doctor closed the door and walked to his chair, keeping his eyes on the file in his hands. Shawn screwed up his face as he watched the doctor, immediately put off by the doctor's actions.

"I'm sorry, doc," Shawn said as he leaned forward. "Is this a bad time?"

The doctor looked up and smiled at his patient. "No, I'm sorry. I just got caught up in what I was reading. Do you know what this is?"

Shawn was about to say 'how could I?', but he sensed it was a test … after all, as far as the doctor knew, he was supposed to be psychic. As the front of the folder was closing, Shawn quickly saw a reflection in the doctor's glasses.

Leaning back Shawn replied, "You're reading about cases I've worked on."

Dr. Mathoweitz smiled again. "Indeed I am. And I must say, I'm quite impressed."

Squinting ever so slightly and crossing his arms, Shawn replied, "Thanks."

Reading the psychic's body language, Dr. Mathoweitz set aside the folder and opened up a notepad. Clicking a pen, the doctor asked, "Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to start today?"

With a smirk Shawn replied, "Isn't that your job? After all, you told me to come back."

Furrowing his brow, the doctor flipped back a couple pages in the pad and asked, "Did I?"

Shawn's leg began shaking again as he said, "You said to come back in two weeks if I took the pills. Sorry it took me a little longer than two weeks to get back here."

Dr. Mathoweitz looked up and flipped back to the blank page. "Ah, so you decided to try the Prozac. Then let's start with that. I have to say, I'm surprised but glad to hear that. How many days have you been taking it?"

"Um, eleven days I think... maybe twelve. I didn't take it the first week or so after you gave it to me." Shawn put a hand on his own knee to steady it. "Wait. Why are you surprised?"

Shawn was talking fast. The doctor pursed his lips and gently shook his head as he made a quick notation about this. "You were resistant about medicine last time you were here. I didn't expect you to change your mind. That's all. But since we're on the topic, what made you change you mind and decide to take them?"

"I wasn't on a case when I started them. I figured it was as good a time as any to test out how my gift would respond to the medicine." As the doctor jotted something down, Shawn continued, "That was really what I was worried about. If the meds made my visions too hazy, then I would be useless to the department."

Dr. Mathoweitz nodded. "That makes sense, Shawn. Were you on a case the last time you were here?"

Shawn simply shook his head.

The doctor made a note. "Then, was there any reason why you waited a week or so to start the medication?"

Shawn chewed the inside of his cheek for a couple seconds before responding, "You said I shouldn't really drink much on it. I wanted to get another... couple nights in. Ya know..."

With an understanding nod, the doctor continued, "Okay. And how do you feel you're reacting to the medicine?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you notice any differences in your mood or thoughts? Any physical side effects? Are you at all feeling hazy?"

Shawn looked around the room. For a moment the doctor thought he was avoiding the question. He waited patiently until finally the psychic spoke. "It sounds so cliché, but I feel more like me."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

Making eye contact, Shawn replied, "Focused. I feel focused again, for the first time in months. Like in cases, I'm seeing everything again. A case came in a few days ago, and it was so clear. I thought I was seeing things before, but now I know I wasn't."

Again a notation was made. "Okay. And how about physical side effects? Stomach upset? Dry mouth? Fatigue? Headache? Anything like that?"

Shawn shook his head. "I don't think so."

The doctor watched as his patient paused. "Shawn, I'm getting the feeling that you're holding back. I really need to know all the side effects you're experiencing."

The psychic observed his doctor for a moment, uncertain if he should share. "I'm not tired."

Dr. Mathoweitz nodded. "That sounds like a positive thing. But I can tell you are concerned about it."

Rubbing his hands over his face, Shawn continued, "What I mean is, I don't need to sleep. I mean, I can't sleep. I have too much energy. And my body is telling me I don't need to. It's both."

The doctor noticed that his patient was talking quite fast all of a sudden. After making a note on this, he put his pad down on his lap and asked, "When we started you said that you - how did you put it? - wanted to get another couple nights in drinking before starting the medication. Did you get drunk those nights?"

Shawn nodded as his leg started nervously bouncing again.

"I'm guessing it was for more than just a couple nights." The doctor watched his patient, but no tell was made. He continued, "Was it more like several nights?"

Another nod.

"And did you blackout?"

Shawn nodded again, this time looking away.

The doctor made a note. "Okay. Since starting the medicine, are you still drinking like that?"

This time Shawn shook his head. "Not really. I mean, some. But not like that."

Another notation. "Do you have any thoughts on this?"

"I..." Shawn scrunched up his face for a moment before continuing. "I just don't want to. I might have a couple drinks a night, but they make me feel foggy. I'm enjoying being awake again... not falling asleep all the time." Shawn made eye contact with the doctor and sighed. "I'm enjoying remembering things again." The doctor raised his eyebrows at this and Shawn continued, "I haven't blacked out in more than a week." Shawn glanced away, and the doctor knew this was from the shame of having blacked out before.

"I'm curious," the doctor started, "did you notice having any withdrawal symptoms when you cut back on your drinking?"

Shawn shook his head. "Not anything that I can think of. Like I said, I'm just feeling more awake."

"Okay, Shawn," Dr. Mathoweitz responded, "I think I understand what you are saying, and I don't think it's anything to worry about. This is common for people who have been going through depression. Between starting the anti-depressants and cutting back on alcohol, a depressant, your mind is just trying to catch up. These are not minor changes that you've made in your health, and I think you are responding to them in a normal way. As your chemistry stabilizes, you'll stop noticing this sleep concern you're currently having."

Shawn absentmindedly chewed the inside of his cheek again while he watched the doctor. Mathoweitz picked up on this immediately and said, "You're worried." It was more of a statement than a question.

The young man nodded as he glanced at the floor quickly and then back up at his doctor.

"What are you worried about?"

With his leg twitching again, Shawn replied, "It just... it seems too fast. I mean, it's great that I am feeling better, but it happened too fast. And I don't want to be on this for the rest of my life."

The doctor chuckled. "Well, Shawn, I doubt you'll need to be on the medication for the rest of your life. More often than not, patients are only on anti-depressants for short periods. They are used just as a temporary aid to help push their brain in the right direction. Does that make sense?"

Shawn nodded, not totally convinced.

"Last time you were here you mentioned that you had started smoking with your drinking. Since you've cut back on drinking, have you still been smoking, Shawn?" the doctor asked.

"Yes and no," was the reply.

Mathoweitz frowned. "How does that work, both yes and no?"

"I'd like to say no, but I have had a few since I started the meds. Not like before, but still some. I guess I screwed myself over when I started smoking." Shawn shook his head. "I hate when my dad is right."

"He told you this is what would happen? That you wouldn't be able to easily stop smoking?"

Shawn shook his head slightly. "No, but when he saw me smoking, I knew he was thinking it."

Dr. Mathoweitz looked confused. "You're telling me that besides being psychic, you can read minds too?"

With a small sigh, Shawn replied, "No, only my father's."

The doctor nodded, understanding, made a quick note, and put down the pen. "I have to say, Shawn, you are looking healthier than I remember from last time."

"Am I?"

With another nod, Mathoweitz continued, "Even though you say you aren't sleeping as much, you look rested. Your eyes aren't bloodshot. You have more color to your face. All around you just look better." The doctor gave a genuine smile. "And, although I doubt you've gained much weight in three weeks, your cheeks look less sunken. I'm sure I didn't notice that as unusual last time since it was the first time we met, but now I can see that you don't really have sunken cheeks. I'd bet that the combination of drinking and smoking excessively, along with not eating well, had dehydrated your body severely and had caused you to be lacking in nutrients. That could have caused a lot of those physical characteristics." The doctor paused before continuing. "And you definitely seem more energetic. Can I ask, does this feel more like yourself, this pace?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think so. Why?"

Dr. Mathoweitz shook his head slightly as he made another note. "It's nothing really. You're just sounding a bit nervous and talking faster than last time. But it's hard for me to judge since this is only the second time I have talked to you. I'm just curious if this feels more like your energy level, or if the last session was."

Shawn merely nodded, uncertain of how to respond. Finally he said, "Yeah, this is more me."

The doctor made another nod and another note. "I want to talk to you about something else," he continued, flipping back and forth between pages in his notepad. "One of the main reasons why I thought it was best for you to take Prozac was, of course, because it seemed to me you were suffering from depression. And you expressed that you were experiencing some symptoms of depression. Since starting the medication, have you noticed any changes in these feelings?"

Shawn wanted to shrug, to pout and not talk about it, but he knew he had to. Still he shrugged and said, "I guess it's better."

"You guess? What makes you feel this way?"

He looked straight at the doctor and then away quickly before replying. "I don't feel those fluctuations anymore. You know, sleeping and not sleeping, being lethargic and being energetic. I feel like it's stabilized. But like I said, I'm just not tired anymore at all. Now I just feel... up. Not like uplifted, up. But like you said, energetic, I guess. I know you said it's nothing to worry about, but still, that's my only 'symptom' I've noticed, " Shawn said with finger quotes.

The doctor nodded slowly. "How's your appetite been?"

This time Shawn didn't make eye contact at all. "The same as before."

"Have you been eating at all?"

Shawn sighed, "Yeah, some. I guess I'm just not super hungry. I know I should be eating, and I do eat when I am hungry, but I'm rarely hungry. I have to remind myself that I need to eat each day."

Making a note, Dr. Mathoweitz continued, "When you don't eat for a while, do you feel light-headed or drained?"

Shawn picked at the skin around his nails as he shook his head.

"What about your friends and family? And your colleagues at the station? Did they have any reaction to your use of the anti-depressant? Have they made any comment on changes to how you look or your behaviors since starting the medication?"

Finally making eye contact again, Shawn responded, "Honestly I haven't told them. The people at the station haven't said anything to me. And I haven't seen my family or friends since the night after the first time I came here. So I haven't seen them since a week before starting the meds."

The doctor furrowed his brow. "Is there any reason why you haven't seen them?"

"I..." Shawn swallowed hard. "I wanted to get plastered. It only lasted a few days, a week I guess. But I was ready for it to last much longer. The last time I saw anyone, that's what I was doing: getting drunk. My best friend found out about the DUI, and when I started drinking that night, he got angry and left. Since then he hasn't been coming around the station or the office to help. And my dad and I fought, and then he left."

"What did you and your dad fight about?"

Shawn rubbed his hands over his face. "Mostly that I was drinking again after a psych eval that was sparked by my drinking. I couldn't tell him that all I wanted to do was get lost in the bottle a few more times. And I didn't want to tell him about the meds."

"Why not? About the meds I mean."

The psychic crossed his arms, not in a defensive manner, but in a protective one. "In case they don't work. I want to know that I am getting..."

"Better?" Dr. Mathoweitz offered.

Shrugging, Shawn replied, "Yeah, but also just getting back to me. If the old me is the real me. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up if the meds are just a temporary fix, or if they don't really work at all."

The doctor nodded, digging further into what Shawn was saying. "Is that your biggest fear right now? That the more recent you is becoming the 'real' you?"

"Kind of." Shawn hugged himself tighter. "It's gonna sound dumb, but right now I think my biggest fear is that one day I'm going to blackout, and I'm not going to get back up."

This shocked the psychiatrist. Just a few weeks before, this man was so insistent that his drinking was not a problem. But now he was opening up that his greatest fear was that he would die from drinking. The doctor needed to verify that this was, in fact, what Shawn was saying. With a straight face he asked, "Do you think your alcohol consumption is severe enough that it could end your life?"

Shawn paused a moment before answering. "I think that if I don't get it under control, maybe not stop, but at least plateau it, that, yes, it... I might not wake up one day."

Dr. Mathoweitz nodded. "Shawn, when you drink, do you consider drinking to this point intentionally? Either now, or before our last session?"

Shawn gave a quick nod.

With a sigh, the doctor leaned forward in his chair and replied, "I'm glad that you are telling me this now, but, Shawn, I really wish you had told me about this a few weeks ago."

"You know I couldn't do that." There was suddenly a biting tone in the patient's voice.

Dr. Mathoweitz leaned back, surprised by this reaction, and responded, "Why's that?"

"Because you would have locked me up. They still would have forced me to take the meds, so what would the point have been. I mean I don't _want _to drink myself to death. I just was telling you about it because that was what was going on before." Shawn stood and paced a couple steps before sitting back down, restlessly.

The doctor kept his eyes on his patient the whole time, taking in the obvious increase in anxiety. "But why wait until now to tell me? Why not tell me a few weeks ago when we first met?"

Shawn rubbed a hand over his face again. "Because now I don't think it will happen. I honestly don't. Before, it could have happened. Hell, I'm surprised it didn't happen the night after I came here."

With his eyes still fixed on Shawn, Dr. Mathoweitz said, "Were you hoping that you would blackout and not wake up that night?"

Shawn merely shrugged, giving no indication what he was really thinking.

With a slow nod and a contemplative glance, the doctor calmly responded, "I need to know the whole truth here, Shawn. Why is it that you don't fear being put in a hospital now?"

"Because you can't." Shawn sighed. "I told you my mom is a shrink. I know how this works. I'm not planning on hurting myself, or anyone. I didn't know what was going to happen before, but now it's the last thing I want. As long as I am stable like this, you can't do anything. And the thing is, I'm no less stable now than any other average person on the street."

"You feel that you're stabilizing from the medicine?"

"Yeah," Shawn said with a scoff. "You don't?"

"I'm just trying to get your take on things, Shawn. But I think I'm beginning to understand."

Shawn scoffed again. "I hate when people say that."

This confused the doctor. "Say what?"

Looking away, out the window, the psychic replied, "That they understand."

"You don't want people to understand?"

With his eyes turning back to the psychiatrist, Shawn replied, "I don't want people to say that they do when they don't."

With another slow nod, Dr. Mathoweitz replied, "I see. So it's not a generic here. You don't think I understand what's going on." It was a statement, not a question.

"I think you are good at throwing questions back at me."

Something was off. Things were starting to feel out of control to the doctor. He made a quick note in his pad and changed the subject, "Shawn, have you noticed that you've been talking pretty fast the past couple minutes? You were at the beginning of today's session too."

Shawn looked confused and shook his head, crossing his arms at the same time, this time defensively. "This is just how I talk. Like I said before, this is more like the me from before. I was slow when you met me. But this is real."

"Are you feeling anxious today, Shawn?"

The psychic noticed that his leg was shaking again. He willed it to stop and replied, "I wasn't before. But the longer I'm here, the more I do. I don't like talking about stuff like this. I think I told you that last time. I like to joke. I like to be light. Not deep. This is getting too deep for me."

The doctor nodded, "Is that how your friends would describe you? As light and joking?"

Shawn smiled as he said, "Yeah, and probably immature. Listen. I don't like being serious. I like cracking jokes and moving on. That's what I do. That's why I don't want to keep having to do this."

"This?" Dr. Mathoweitz asked. "You mean coming to see me and taking medication?"

"Yeah." Shawn sighed and stood, "I'm sorry, but I think this is about all I can do today."

The doctor stood along with him, wanting to keep his patient's focus for just a few more minutes. "Just, hang on Shawn. I need for us to cover just a little more today before I'll feel comfortable letting you leave."

Both men sat back down, Dr. Mathoweitz taking the lead, and Shawn reluctantly following.

Continuing, Dr. Mathoweitz said, "If you are feeling anxious, or more anxious than normal, please let me know and we can adjust your medication." When he got no response from Shawn, he again continued, "Are you planning on continuing to take the Prozac?"

Shawn shrugged, "I figured I would give it another few weeks and see."

The doctor nodded, "I think that's a good idea, Shawn. And if you do continue, I'd like to see you in a month this time. If you decide, at any time, to stop taking the medication, please call me because although you haven't been taking it for very long, there is a specific way we need to ease you off of it so that you don't suffer any withdrawal symptoms. Do you understand?"

Shawn nodded.

"And," the doctor continued, "I'd also like you to keep up with your lesser alcohol intake. It seems like that is working pretty well for you, wouldn't you agree?"

Shawn nodded again.

"But," again Dr. Mathoweitz continued, "if you do start suffering from any withdrawal from alcohol, or if you do start getting that urge to drink like before..."

"Call you," Shawn finished, " I got it. Anything else?"

The doctor watched his patient for a beat, still sensing that something wasn't being said. He started to shake his head, but stopped and replied, "Yes. Chief Vick requested that I follow up with her when her employees see me. I legally cannot tell her anything that was said between us, nor give her any diagnosis or reveal anything about medication. But I do need your permission to speak with her about you. Is this okay?"

Shawn nodded and said, "Fine by me. Anything to keep me working." He stood and started walking around the couch, "I'll see you in a few weeks, doc."

The door closed before the doctor even had a chance to say goodbye. He decided it was best to call the chief right away, before forgetting. He went to his desk and dialed.

Dr. Mathoweitz expected to get the secretary or voicemail, but was surprised when the chief, herself, answered.

"Chief Vick," she said quickly.

"Hello, Chief. This is Dr. Mathoweitz."

"Ah, yes, Doctor. How can I help you?"

He leaned back in his chair and flipped through his notes quickly. "I just wanted to call and let you know that I met with Shawn Spencer again-"

"Doctor, I don't know what you did, but he is back to his old self. Annoying and all over the place, sure, but that's the Shawn we are all used to." There was a pause from the doctor, and Chief Vick thought they might have been disconnected. "Hello?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he responded. "I was actually just going to ask you about that. I obviously can't go into specifics, but I did want to check on your thoughts of him recently. The man I met before was much different than the man I just had the pleasure speaking with."

"That's putting it mildly. Like I said, he's getting back to his old self."

The doctor released a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. "I'm glad to hear that, Chief. And since that is the case, I still believe that Shawn is fit to continue working with the SBPD."

The conversation ended. But something kept nagging at the back of Dr. Mathoweitz's mind. Something still felt off. He hoped that the feeling would subside with Shawn's next session. But that session never came.


End file.
